Branded
by meepzorz
Summary: Things happen very differently when Hadriana corners Fenris and his companions in the Slaver Dungeons surrounding the Sundermount, and Hawke is made to pay the price to secure their freedom. But when the dust settles and the smoke clears, who will be the one to save her? Will there be anything left to salvage, or is Lady Hawke beyond repair?
1. M :: Sacrifice

They were hemmed in on all sides; demons behind them, blood mages and Magisters in front of them. She'd tried to reason with Fenris, to make him understand that this wasn't the best place to stage their counter assault, but the elf had been too deeply devoured by rage to see reason.

So Moira Hawke, accompanied by Sebastian and Merrill, followed Fenris into the Dragon's maw where they were now trapped by the Magister Hadriana.

Fenris was badly injured, Merrill not much better. Sebastian was somehow keeping the demons behind them at bay though he was no close-quarters warrior. Moira was collapsed, one knee holding her up while her body struggled to fall apart around her.

She knew a lost battle when she saw one.

"A bargain, if you've mind to hear it." Her voice sounded strained even to her ears.

The thin faced, sallow looking Mage only scowled at her, dirty blue eyes smouldering in their deep sockets. She hesitated the briefest moment, and Moira knew she was gauging the field for a trap. "A bargain? Ha! I've nearly won!"

Moira chuckled, a sick and disturbing sound. "If you're interested in phyrric victories, by all means ignore me. But one bird in the hand is worth more than two in the bush. You'll never capture us all alive, and I doubt very much that Fenris will accompany you gracefully. How many men are you willing to lose to this cause? What measure of risk are you personally willing to take to see your Master's plans through?" She watched the wheels turn in Hadriana's head, weighing the likelyhood of success against the chance of personal maiming.

"I'm listening."

Moira licked her lips. "I propose a trade."

There was a bark of laughter, a sudden shallow gasp. She felt the weight of Fenris' death glare boring holes into her back, but she held Hadriana's amused stare with a serious and unblinking gaze. "Alittle force is all it would have taken to get the wolf back? We should have pressed harder on the coast."

Moira continued to watch and stare, unmoved by the witch's mockery. "Not Fenris. Take me in his place. Surely you have an adequate measure of my skills by now. My magic is no lyrium mark, but it may as well be. And a willing slave must surely be easier to manage than a defiant, resentful and surly elf."

That seemed to stop Hadriana in her tracks. The look in her eyes shifted ever so slightly from cruel to one of appraisal as she eyed the Mage across from her before her gaze slid to Fenris and Merrill behind her.

"And what's going to keep us from simply taking you anyway? You must know we'll never let you leave alive if you resist us."

"Because I will give myself up without resistance. I will follow you to Minrathous and submit myself to Danarius without a word of contempt or disrespect." Moira could see betrayal spinning into Hadriana's words. She had to be quick. "You think to travel back to Tevinter with a full party of bitter and angry mages, an archer, and particularly nasty warrior in tow? You and yours must not sleep, to be so unconcerned of retribution."

"One slave, not even the one we were sent for, seems a poor offer." She was staring fully at Merrill now, and Moira felt a surge of hate for this woman before she suggested what she had known was coming. "Perhaps you could sweeten the pot? That archer looks lovely. Even the little mageling elf would do."

"This is your only offer, witch. Do you decline? We have a battle to resume if you're quite finished wasting my time." The magic that had deserted her was slowly growing again; she could feel it tingle in her hands and fingers as she itched to just incinerate the woman and be done with it. But she wasn't alone; she had others to look after.

She would not fail them as she'd failed Bethany and Carver.

Hadriana simply glared, mulling it over.

"You don't know what you're offering, Hawke." She couldn't help but glance back at Fenris, his strange armor opened in places while wounds gaped underneath. He'd need to see Anders, and with a jolt she realized she wouldn't be there to mediate.

Anders... He'd be so angry that she didn't say goodbye. She had to chuckle at that; it wouldn't be that she wasn't saying goodbye, he would have scolded her for being thoughtless and even thinking it up in the first place.

"Tell Anders to be cautious." Moira finally said, pulling herself from the montage of memories she had been unable to stop herself from watching. The first time she'd seen him, healing a small and broken boy until he was healed and whole again, draining himself to near exhaustion. The way he would smirk at the mention of cats. The firelight on his face in the Hanged Man. … The night they'd spent, less than a week ago, at her estate. She'd almost felt whole.

She had to stop herself, or she would never be able to go through with this. "And tell Mother, tell her something. Just don't tell her what I did."

"You think she would rather hear that all of her children had perished before she joined the Maker's side?" Sebastian's voice cut through her regret like a whip crack. His voice was harsh, and she could almost hear a divine rant coming on. "This is sheer folly, Hawke!"

"This is the only way we can escape alive." Moira said firmly. "This is the only way to keep you all safe."

"We are men and women grown; we can take care of ourselves."

"The discussion is over Sebastian. The decision has been made." The Mage turned, emphasizing the finality of her statement. "Well?"

Hadriana could only glare, before she gave a sharp nod. "So be it. We will take you in the elf's place." She glanced at Fenris, smirking darkly. "Such a strong woman in trade, Danarius will be sure to forget all about his disobedient wolf."

"They leave the way we came." Moira growled before Hadriana could say a word more. "We will follow them outside and wait at the point where the city's gates can be seen. We leave the Free Marches when I see them safely into the city."

"So be it... Hawke, was it? I hope you enjoyed making that order," Hadriana's smirk was wider, and more sickening. "It will be your last, slave."


	2. F :: Regroup

Four years had passed since Fenris had turned and watched the faint outline of Hawke fade into the distance, flanked by Hadriana and her body guards. He had half expected her to do... _something_. But she stood silent, vigilant, just watching them walk away.

Leaving her to a fate Fenris wouldn't have wished even on Anders.

But she simply watched, and as the gates closed and she was finally taken from view, Fenris felt the first bitter claws of fear twisting in his gut.

She'd helped him twice now, fought beside him as the slavers snapped at his heels, charged with him into the abandoned manor to attack Danarius without fear for her safety. A mage herself, and she raised her staff against a Magister.

And he let her walk into the chains in his place? He was no better than the weak, cowardly hunters Danarius had sent after him in the first place.

But despite his regrets and bitterness, time had kept spinning without Moira. With some assistance from Fenris, Sebastian had managed to quell the slowly seething and bitter Qunari. He returned their relic and the thief who had stolen it in the first place, allowing them to return to Par Vollen before tensions could rise higher.

They slowly lost contact with Aveline; her new life with Donnic and as Guard-captain kept her busy. And honestly, she didn't want to be further involved with the shadowy underbelly of Kirkwall. Not without Hawke there to smile and remind her that sometimes you had to bend the rules to uphold the Right Thing.

There was too much of a rift between Anders' beliefs and what Sebastian thought was right. Once he learned of Moira's sacrifice, it seemed to shred any common ground they could have shared and he left the group without a word and without a look. He blamed Sebastian for what Moira had done, and he held that grudge close to his heart like it was the last smoldering heat in a now frigid world.

Anders cared for Leandra while her daughter was gone, keeping the secret as Moira wanted until her Mother's passing last year. The strain had been too much, he'd told Varric, and like a bird whom lost its mate she simply gave up.

The entire ordeal seemed to shake Merrill, not that she'd been terribly stable to begin with. Moira's absence, how she had been taken... seemed to pull the elf further into her seclusion. She dove into her experiments and research around that dark mirror, as if it held the secret to Moira's freedom just below its cracked surface. If not for Varric looking after her well-being, she would probably have starved a long time ago.

Varric... He was the one constant, the one connection they all shared. Which, honestly, was the only reason why Fenris was standing in the doorway of the Hanged Man to begin with. Varric had sent him a message, and he'd come. Whether it was nostalgia that drew him, or some instinct he didn't have words or names for, he didn't know. Maker knows he didn't owe the dwarf anything after all these years. They'd rarely spoken since Moira had gone.

Strange how the woman seemed to be the glue that held her 'merry band of misfits' together.

It was still early in the afternoon, though it was never too early for a drink and a game at the Hanged Man. He knew without opening the door where Varric would be sitting, or standing as he regaled the crowd with more otherwise _emphasized_ stories of Sebastian's exploits. The dwarf was as predictable as he was vulgar.

He'd expected to find him in his usual place in the far corner, visible from the door and the most prominent area of the tavern, but Varric was nowhere to be seen. Maybe Fenris had been mistaken about the time, or Varric had left without him? He was about to turn when the barmaid stopped him and told him he was waiting in a back room with his other guests.

Fenris hesitated at the door, suspicious of the secrecy, the cloak and dagger nature of this entire affair. Why was he here? Surely the dwarf had better contacts for whatever job he had lined up...

But it was the specter of Hawke that whispered in his ear, urging him on.

_You don't abandon friends._

With an inward sigh, he pushed open the door to Varric's somewhat permanent room and stepped inside.

"Well, well. I'm surprised you've stayed around for so long."

That was a voice Fenris had never expected to hear again, not after her departure with the Qunari.

"Isabela. I'd thought you would have taken residence in Par Vollen by now."

The Pirate Queen smiled just a bit before taking another long swallow from a bottle of something far richer than the Hanged Man could afford. She looked quite relaxed, reclining in the wooden chair with her long, long legs kicked up on the table. For someone that had been forcibly taken by an otherwise hostile people, Isabela looked none the worse for wear.

"What can I say. They were _awful_ sticks in the mud. No sense of humor. Or of adventure. When I jumped from their ship they simply let me go." She gently swirled the bottle and held it up to the light as if checking how much remained. "How's Kitten?"

"How should I know what that blood mage is up to?" Fenris replied sourly. "I'm more curious what you're doing back."

"You've been watching over her, for Hawke." Isabela smirked, putting her booted feet back to the ground and sitting in the chair as she was meant to. "I haven't seen you for four years, and you're still a terrible liar. If I wouldn't make a killing playing Wicked Grace, I'd even give you a few hints about your tell."

With an exasperated sigh, Fenris leaned forward and snatched the bottle from her hands. Aggregio Pavali. How had he'd known? "It doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

"You're still no fun, either." She muttered, leaning back and reaching for the tankard on the table.

"What are you doing here, Isabela?"

She ignored him, taking a moment to savor the Hanged Man's signature swill as if it was a century-old bottle of wine.

"Well?" Fenris was getting frustrated now, in no mood for the pirate's antics. Where in the blighted hell was Varric, anyway? Why had he been called?

"I promised our host I wouldn't say anything until he returned. I suspect he's collecting... what was his nickname, again? Broody? … no, that was you. Blondie! I imagine he's collecting Blondie."

The elf began to stand. "Whatever Varric has planned, he obviously does not require my assistance if he's including that creature."

"Fenris, wait." Isabela grabbed his arm as he passed, trapping him with a suddenly serious, intent gaze. He glared down at her hand until she hesitantly released his forearm. "Please stay. For Hawke."

There was that ghost again, whispering. He sighed, all but throwing himself back into the chair. Four years and so many countries and free-cities away, she still ruled him. Ruled them all. It was irrational. Unreasonable.

_She sacrificed herself for you. She gave her free life for yours. The least you can do is listen._

"Varric told me her mother passed last spring."

Fenris had nearly forgotten where he was, so entrenched in his thoughts and memories of that day. He almost flinched when her heard Isabela speaking. Her voice was unnaturally somber, unpleasantly quiet and... serious. It sounded wrong, coming from a throat so used to laughing and cursing.

"She simply drifted away." He'd visited occasionally, when Anders could find no other person to watch her. He remembered seeing her sit at the window in Hawke's room, or Carver's, just staring. Barely speaking, or speaking to the room as if her children were there.

Isabela took another long drink, draining the tankard in one drawn out gulp. "What a shame."

Shame, indeed.

The silence grew between them, prickly and uncomfortable. Isabela took the bottle from the table where Fenris had left it, turning it so she could study the label as if it held a secret worth cracking while Fenris glanced around the room.

The silence dragged, until Fenris was lost in the memories of years ago. There was a map against the far wall, a few circles and an x here and there. The books on the desk in the sleeping area were stacked haphazardly, a few lain open or bookmarked with a feather. It had been so long since he'd last been here, he'd forgotten what it was like to plan some strange adventure with Hawke leading the charge.

The door opened, and they both turned to see who it was that entered. Anders, and Varric of course, but Merrill trailed along behind them. It seemed they'd made a detour to pick her up as well, and Fenris could hardly recognize her. Nothing but bones, and skin that seemed shrunk over her diminutive frame. Before he could stop himself, he wondered when she'd eaten last. Truth be told, it was none of his concern, but he felt responsible none the less.

The last two people to come strolling through the door surprised him most of all. Aveline, still wearing her Guard-Captain's armor, and Sebastian.

"You didn't tell me you were going to bring _him_." Isabela spit the words like acid, her hand convulsing around the neck of the bottle as she kicked away from the table and made to stand.

"Would you have stayed if I had?" Varric sounded tired, and not in a physical sense. The last few years had been hard on him too, it seemed, between dealing with the Guild, the Carta, and the Coterie. Between caring for his brother, and looking out for Anders and Merrill. And now Fenris had to wonder, had he been hatching some scheme to save Hawke, who made it all look so effortless?

"I'm surprised you'd want to help." Fenris didn't miss her hand edging towards the knife in her belt as she hissed at Sebastian. Nor did he miss the venom in her tone when she turned back to Varric. "Are you so sure he won't warn him we're coming? Wrap him up in a neat little bow to protect this shithole so the Magisters will stay well away?"

"As I recall, you were the one to steal their tome, Isabela." Sebastian said quietly, closing the door behind him. He seemed to have already prepared for this fight.

"And I returned it. But what did you do, Sebastian, with all your moral high ground and the blessing of the Chantry behind you?" The Pirate took a step towards him, jabbing a finger into his plated chest hard enough to push him back. "I may not be the most righteous cookie in the jar, but I would _**never**_ give one of you up. _**Hawke**_ didn't give you up, and see what the bloody fucking hell it brought her!"

"Don't give me all the blame, you're far from innocent in all of this. You needed to atone; your greed brought blood and death to the gates so don't put that all at my door!"

"Ha! I've never once tried to hide what I was. Can your precious Chantry say the same? I may not be innocent, but at least I'm honest about it. What of dear Mother Petrice? Ser Varnell and his Crazy Qunari-Killing Cult? But they're _innocent_, aren't they, Sebastian?"

"That's enough, kids. You can have one hell of a duel when we're done, but right now we need to get along." Varric moved to the head of the table, ripping the map from the wall and laying it flat on the table for everyone to see. "Now, why don't we go and get Hawke? I'm sure she's more than ready to come home."


End file.
